


tell me no lies, just hold me close

by asafeplace



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Cuddling, Depressed Steve Rogers, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Protective Bucky Barnes, Self-Harm, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve/brock is not important, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, everyone comes back to life, it's more of the hurt before the comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-01-31 11:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18589948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asafeplace/pseuds/asafeplace
Summary: After the Snap, Steve feels like he can barely breathe. Yet day by day, he trudges forwards because he knows it's what Bucky would want him to do. He just tries to survive. Unfortunately, in the process, Steve develops some unhealthy coping mechanisms. So, when Bucky returns, things are a little different.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter is based, almost scene for scene, on my personal experience. I don't really know how I feel about what happened, especially because I consented and asked for it, but this fic is my way of dealing with it. And Chapter 2 is what I wish had happened afterwards: I wish I had someone to care for me and understand me.

Captain America is the strongest person alive. He’s probably the strongest person to ever exist. So, the only time anyone worries about Captain America’s safety unless he’s being attacked by aliens or an entire army of Nazis. 

Steve pulled off his uniform and tossed it into the laundry basket. There were several rips in the fabric, long gashes crossing the back of his suit. Just a few hours earlier, Steve had the distinct pleasure of saving New York from yet another species of mutant: part human, part spider. Giant pincers tore through the skin around their mouths, protruding like serrated tusks. Two pairs of arms, longer than a grown man’s legs, burrowed out from their backs. The extra arms were covered in coarse but sensitive hairs, which picked up vibrations and acted as de facto second eyes. Steve gagged when he first saw them. 

Steve stepped into the shower. Despite the luxury offered by the Avengers Tower—heated floors, scented shower gel, pink loofahs—he cleaned himself with efficiency. He washed his hair with some generic 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, thinking of Thor’s reaction when he found out that Steve was not giving his scalp the attention it deserved. The memory nearly made him smile, but it disappeared before it could even fully form.

He stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in a ridiculously soft towel and walked back towards the main section of the locker room. He’d left his phone on the bench, and he checked it while towelling off his hair with a free hand.

One new message from Brock Rumlow: _Miss you. Come over tonight._

Steve texted back, _Be there at 9._

_///_

After the snap, Steve had expected the world to stop turning on its axis. He’d expected circling of the solar system to stop, all of the planets hovering in place like marbles trapped in glass. He’d expected to the sun to go out and leave the world frozen, preserving it for the day when things would be okay. He’d expected life to fall apart, molecules ripping themselves into pieces in mourning of all that was lost. 

He did not expect life to go on. 

Because for him, the world had stopped. After everything—after death, after killing, after brainwashing, after torture, after all that, Bucky was his again. And, of course, things were different. They both had their scars; they had both suffered far too much to be the same people that they were before the war. But, then again, in so many ways, things were exactly the same. 

Even in the 21st century, Steve and Bucky found themselves gravitating towards each other. They weren’t totally inseparable, but if you were looking for one of them, chances were that the other could tell you exactly where he was. They still had that connection, that feeling of a single string tied around each of their hearts. Both of the men were quieter, but the affection they had for one another seeped out no matter the situation. 

Like during one of the movie nights, a few months before the snap. Steve was laying on one of the smaller couches with his legs hanging over the arm of the couch. He was actually enjoying the movie, and his eyes stayed fixed on the screen when Bucky walked in. Without the slightest movement to see who had entered the room, Steve adjusted his position so that he was sitting and only took up half of the couch. Steve didn’t even seem to notice that he had moved as Bucky sat down next to him. Over the course of the movie, they inched closer together, until the credits rolled, and Steve was curled into Bucky’s side with his hand carding through Steve’s hair. 

Even in battle, Bucky could always sense when Steve was in danger and vice versa. Steve and Bucky were both incredible warriors on their own, but there was just no comparison between the way the fought individually and the way they fought when they were together. To watch them was to see two halves come together, to witness completion. 

And this was true in every aspect of their lives. Steve and Bucky were SteveandBucky in the 20th century and the 21st century. So, some things didn’t change. 

So, when Bucky died again, fading into dust in front of Steve’s eyes, he wasn’t just losing his best friend. He was losing his other half. 

///

Steve knocked on Rumlow’s apartment door, checking his watch. It was 9:00 pm exactly. Rumlow opened the door and ushered him inside. He walked towards the bedroom, and Steve followed. 

“You want the blindfold?”

Steve nodded. 

“Alright, baby. I don’t know why you insist on it,” he chuckled, “because I’d love to see those pretty blue eyes, but it’s your choice.”

Steve turned around and bowed his head as Rumlow fastened the black cloth across his eyes. He listened to the sound of the Velcro hooking into place and tried to quell the turning of his stomach. 

With the blindfold fully fastened, Rumlow started to run his hands across Steve’s body. He started with his shoulders, sliding his palms back and forth, with his fingers occasionally dipping into Steve’s collar. He pushed Steve’s head to the side, exposing his neck. Steve forced his expression to stay light as he felt Rumlow’s tongue against his skin, licking all the way from his clavicle to his jaw. 

Rumlow bit at his earlobe. “You like that?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I bet you do. Coming over here, late at night, just because I texted you. I bet you couldn’t wait to see me.” He ran his hands down Steve’s arms, pinning them at his side, before grabbing his ass. “Turn around. Face me.”

Steve complied, standing perfectly still. 

“Look at you. So obedient for me. You’d do anything I asked you to, wouldn’t you?”

Steve nodded. 

Rumlow began to unbutton Steve’s shirt, licking at the space between his collar bones. Steve figured now would be a good time to moan, so he did, pretending like he was actually enjoying this. 

“I bet you’re so hard for me, aren’t you baby?” Rumlow said, grinding against Steve.

He sucked on Steve’s nipples, covering them with spit and then pinching them tightly between his fingers. Steve could feel the indentations forming, but he knew they would fade away even more quickly. He bit his lip, trying not to focus on the pain. 

“Open your mouth.”

Rumlow stuck his thumb between Steve’s lips, pressing it against his teeth and gums. He put another finger in, and Steve choked a little on the depth of it. Rumlow paused for a moment, but he quickly pushed through. 

Rumlow grabbed his cheeks with his free hand. “Good boy,” he said, shaking Steve’s face. 

Rumlow groaned and undid the rest of Steve’s buttons. He untucked his shirt from his pants and scrapped his fingers along Steve’s abs. Steve’s muscles quivered involuntarily under the touch, and he let out a small gasp. Rumlow took that as a sign that he was into it and grabbed roughly at his torso, pinching the skin and muscle underneath. 

“Take off your pants, Rogers, and get on the bed.”

“How do you want me?” Steve asked, pulling off his socks. He was a little off balance due to the blindfold and placed one hand on the wall to steady himself. 

“Hands down, ass up like the slut you are.” 

Steve bent over, arching his back. His feet were firmly planted on the floor, but his hands were on the bed. He tried to relax into the cushions, taking a moment to breath while Rumlow was busy getting undressed. Steve reminded himself that he had consented. Honestly, enthusiastically, and without pressure. 

Rumlow smacked Steve’s ass and grabbed it tightly. “You’re such a pretty boy for me, Stevie. Such a pretty boy,” he smirked

Steve clenched his teeth, trying not to give away how painful it actually was. 

Rumlow ran his hand across Steve’s balls, squeezing and pinching them sequentially. Steve rolled his eyes. Sure, he was hard, but he let Rumlow believe he was a lot better in bed than he actually was. On that note, he let out a perfunctory moan. 

“Yeah, that’s right. You love it when I touch you like that, don’t you?”

Steve nodded, not really caring enough to respond verbally. 

“Well, wait ‘til you see—or don’t see, in this case—what I have planned for you tonight.”

“Can’t wait.”

“Flip over.”

Steve turned so that he was laying on his back with his arms behind his head. He felt the mattress sink down as Rumlow got onto the bed and made his way towards Steve. He hooked his arms beneath Steve’s spread legs, making them bend a little bit towards his chest. 

Rumlow licked a long stripe from the base of Steve’s perineum all the way up to the head of his cock. 

_Now,_ that _actually felt pretty good_ , Steve found himself thinking. Sex with Rumlow wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exactly fireworks. It took a lot to get Steve off, and he rarely left Rumlow’s apartment having orgasmed. But that was fine—he didn’t expect to sex to be ridiculously pleasurable, not with Rumlow or anyone else. Sex was just sex: fun, but not nearly as out of this world as the movies made it seem. 

Rumlow continued to suck on Steve’s cock for another minute or so. Steve shifted his hips a little and let out a few gasps, but all of it was conscious. He just couldn’t lose himself in the feeling.

“Sit up for me.”

Rumlow was now on his knees, and he positioned Steve so that his ass rested on top of his ankles. He slid a hand around the back of Steve’s neck, scratching at the short hairs at the base of his skull. 

He grabbed on of Steve’s hands and pressed it against his thigh. “You wanna feel what you did to me, baby? You want to feel how hard you made your Daddy?”

“Yes, I do,” Steve said, trying not to roll his eyes at Rumlow’s dirty talk. 

Rumlow moved Steve’s hand up his leg, guiding towards his pelvis. “Come on then.” 

Steve could feel the outline of Rumlow’s cock through his boxers. He ran his hands back and forth over the length, varying his pressure and motion. Rumlow moaned.

“Yeah, that’s right. Such a good boy.” 

Tangling his hands in Steve’s hair, Rumlow pulled his face closer to his body, pressing his mouth against the fabric clothing his cock. 

“I bet you were thinking about this all day, weren’t you?”

Steve answered with a muffled mm-hmm.

“On your mission, in the briefing room, during training session—all you could think about was how I was going to touch you, how I was going to use your pretty little body.” Rumlow groaned, and Steve felt his cock stiffen a little more. “You wanna suck it, baby? Do you want to kiss Daddy’s cock?”

Steve nodded.

“Alright then.” He slid Steve’s hands into the waistband of his boxers and pressed them against his cock. “That’s right, baby.”

Steve pulled Rumlow’s cock out of his underwear and sucked lightly at the tip. The taste was subtle but definitely unpleasant: salty and sour. Steve thanked god that he had already established that there would be absolutely no cumming in his mouth. The thought alone made him gag. 

Rumlow interpreted his reaction differently. “Daddy’s cock feels pretty big in your mouth, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Daddy, it does.” Steve cringed at himself. 

“And that’s just in your mouth. Imagine how it’s going to feel when I put my cock inside your tight, little ass.”

 _Probably not so good,_ Steve thought. 

“So good,” Steve said. 

Rumlow began to fuck his mouth, grinding his hip into Steve’s face. He could feel the other man’s pubic hair brushing his nose, and not for the first time that night, he remembered exactly why he insisted on the blindfold. The sound of Rumlow’s grunts and the feeling of his hands, tongue, and dick on Steve’s skin were bad enough without the visuals. 

Steve tried to let his throat relax. Every time he came over, he remembered exactly why “suck my dick” was an insult and not a gesture of attraction. Sucking a dick was hard work. With each thrust, no matter how small, Steve had to remind himself to breath and relax. Rumlow’s movements, which probably seemed tame and controlled to him, exhausted Steve. Even in the darkness of the blindfold, he could feel his vision blacking out each time Rumlow pushed into his mouth. 

But if Steve couldn’t have a good time, then at least he could make sure that Rumlow was pleased. No point in two people leaving unsatisfied. 

Steve prepared for another burst of darkness as he deepthroated Rumlow’s cock. He focused on producing as much saliva as possible to reduce the friction against his lips.

“That’s a good boy. I love the way your lips look wrapped around my cock. Makes you look like the slut you are.”

Rumlow crawled around to the back of Steve and started rubbing him again. Rumlow had a thing for his neck, so Steve wasn’t surprised in the slightest when his hands found his way around his neck, squeezing slightly along the sides. 

“Turn your face to the side.”

There it was again: the feeling of Rumlow’s slimy tongue lapping at his skin. Of course, this iteration was a little bit different because his other hand had wound around Steve and was jerking him off slowly. Steve felt himself getting harder, and he thrusted slightly into Rumlow’s first. He continued like this a for a few minutes more, and Steve tried to ignore the groaning and panting pressed up against his ear. 

“Flip over again for me, baby” Rumlow whispered roughly. “We’ve had enough foreplay for tonight.”

“On my back or on my knees?”

“I want to fuck you face up.”

Steve complied and forced himself to relax as Rumlow slipped a finger into his ass. As usual, Rumlow did not have any lube, using his spit and the occasional bit of lotion instead. 

He added another finger in and started to finger him quickly and roughly, almost like a jackhammer going at his ass. It wasn’t particularly painful, so Steve decided to wait it out, hoping that Rumlow would give up on that pretty quickly. Unfortunately, he seemed set on working with his hands, and Steve’s skin was starting to get irritated from the irregular friction. 

“Umm . . . I’m not sure if I’m into this,” Steve said softly. 

Rumlow withdrew his fingers. “Okay, you just want to get right down to it.”

Steve nodded, grateful for small victories. Not for the first time that night, he reminded himself that he had consented, and when he had asked Rumlow to stop, he had done so immediately.

Rumlow pressed his cock against Steve’s ass, sliding it up and down to let Steve feel the pressure between his cheeks.

“Do you have protection?”

“Yeah, Cap. I’ll take care of you, don’t worry,” Rumlow said with a chuckle. 

With that, Rumlow pushed in.

It was not painful. Sure—there was a feeling a stretch and initial tightness, but Steve wouldn’t describe the entrance as painful. You know what was painful though? What came after. 

When Rumlow fucked him slow, Steve could bear it with considerable enthusiasm. It didn’t feel especially good, but it was essentially a neutral experience. This left Steve with enough energy to remember to moan, and arch his back, and grip the bedsheets, and bite his lower lip periodically.

But when Rumlow started to fuck him hard and fast, Steve just stopped. It was just too much. The entrance of his asshole burned from the friction, and even though logically he knew he wasn’t bleeding, his brain seemed to tell him otherwise. 

And as if the feeling of Rumlow’s hips smacking against his inner thighs wasn’t enough, when he got really into it, he would lower himself on top of Steve. His heavy breathing, coming in short, hot pants, induced claustrophobia. Steve knew that he was stronger, that he could push him off at any moment, but in those moments, he felt absolutely trapped. 

When Rumlow fucked him hard and fast, Steve would go limp and practise counting his breaths. _1, 2, 3, in, 4, 5, 6, out._ He would just lay there and wait for it to be over. 

On this night, Rumlow had started with slow, purposeful thrusts, but now he was moving in and out of Steve’s ass like he was stabbing someone. Steve tried to go to a place in his head where he wouldn’t feel it, but there was nothing else to focus on. 

“You like that? You like that, huh, baby?” Rumlow grunted. “You feel so tight around my cock.”

Steve dug into the mattress, trying to keep his hips in place and minimise the pain. 

“God, you’re such a tight little slut!”

Rumlow, caught up in the heat of the moment, splayed his hand across the right half of Steve’s head, squeezing his cheeks together and pressing his face to this side. He bent towards Steve and to bite along his neck, followed by an instance of licking that could possibly be classified as drooling. 

“So hot for me, just like that. Tell me that you love my cock in your ass.”

“I do.”

“Yeah, you do. Pretty little fucktoy like you. You live for this.”

The worst was when Rumlow would lift his legs up so that his thighs were pressed into the mattress next to his stomach. Steve would try to bear it, he really would, but his entire body would start cramping, and the entire angle at which Rumlow fucked became seven times more uncomfortable, like he was ramming into his organs. 

Sometimes, Steve was lucky, and Rumlow would skip this position all together. Tonight was not one of those night. 

He said hoarsely, “Can you switch? That kind of hurts.”

“Of course, baby. You should have said something earlier.”

Rumlow set his legs back down and returned to the normal pace of fucking. Fast and hard. Steve counted the seconds, making infinite lists of 10.

_I consented. I consented. I consented, and I didn’t ask him to stop._

With his cock buried deep in Steve’s ass, Rumlow leaned over and whispered wetly in his ear, “Can you give Daddy a kiss?”

Steve parted his lips. The way Rumlow kissed was weird. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, but it never felt right. At the moment, Rumlow was sliding his tongue between Steve’s lips and licking the roof of his mouth. When he withdrew, Steve closed his mouth, trying to make it look natural and not like a deliberate avoidance. He turned his head to the side and moaned, knowing that would distract Rumlow. 

Rumlow continued to fuck him. It felt like hours, but Steve knew that it had been less that 10 minutes. He was about to reach his breaking point when Rumlow pulled out and rolled on to his side. 

“I think that’s enough for today, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Steve couldn’t remember whether Rumlow had cum or not. 

“You did a great job, taking Daddy’s big cock like a horny slut. Such a good boy.”

“Thanks.”

“Why don’t I get that blindfold off for you?” Rumlow said, reaching around Steve’s eyes. 

Steve bowed his head and blinked in the dim room. 

“Do you need anything?” Rumlow asked. 

Steve shook his head. Without looking at Rumlow, he walked over to his clothes. He stumbled a little as he stepped into his underwear. In a minute’s time, he was dressed and checked his hair the mirror before heading towards the door.

“Hey,” Steve heard Rumlow’s voice behind him. “Give me hug before you go.”

Steve turned around and gave Rumlow a quick hug. His mind was overflowing with thoughts, all racing by too quickly to process. In effect, Steve felt blank. But as he made his way down the stairs of Rumlow’s apartment building, he found that a single thought has made its way to the forefront: 

_I consented. I consented. I consented. So, there’s no reason for me to cry._

///

By the time Steve gets back to the Avengers Tower, he felt nothing at all. He ran into Tony walking towards the elevator.

“Busy night, Cap?” Tony said with his usual energy. 

“Something like that.”

“Ooh, what does that mean? Has the paragon of American virtue finally taken the magic carpet ride into that whole new world?”

Steve opened his mouth to respond, but—

“I know, I promised to stop making those jokes. It’s kind of an insult to be called the paragon of American virtue with this President anyway. Why couldn’t he have disappeared in the snap?” Tony sobered as soon as he said that. “Sorry. You know I can be—I mean, I didn’t think—”

“It’s okay. You deal with it using humour, I deal with it by . . .,” Steve trailed off, knowing that there wasn’t an honest way to end that sentence. 

“Yeah.” His voice sounded smaller than it had in months. “It’s just been so _hard._ ”

“I know.” Steve sighed “You get hurt, hurt ‘em back. You get killed, walk it off. Except this time, we can’t.”

Tony nodded. The lift dinged, as Steve had finally reached his floor. He waved goodbye, hovering in the vestibule outside of his actual quarters and waited for the elevator to slide closed. Scanning his ID once more, Steve kicked of his shoes and closed the door behind him, sinking down against it. 

“God,” he said with his face in his hands, “what am I going to do?”

Steve groaned and pressed his palms into his eyes, telling himself that they were watering because of the pressure. His skin itched with smell of sex. As he walked towards the shower, he pulled of his shirt and dropped it on the floor. At the entrance to his bedroom, he hopped from one foot to the other, abandoning his socks. Finally, standing on the bathroom mat, he stumbled out of his jeans and boxers and into the shower. 

The water was soothing, like being wrapped in a warm embrace. Steve reached for dial faucet handle and turned it up as high as it would go. Tony had set it so that the sinks would only release a certain range of temperatures, due to past incidents. _(Bucky finding Steve with his hands in near-boiling water, watching his skin pucker with burns; Steve finding Bucky catatonic in an ice-cold bath.)_ Steve considered jerking himself off, but even the idea filled him with a resigned sort of dread. 

Later that night, Steve laid in his bed trying to fall asleep. At first, he laid on his back, staring at a crack in the ceiling. But it wasn’t long before he returned to his natural position: curled on his side, arms drawn in. Still, he remained awake. Steve knew why: the empty space behind him taunted him, haunted him. 

He closed his eyes and imagined that Bucky was there with him. He imagined that the bed felt the right size, instead of too big as it had since the snap. He imagines he could feel the soft heat of Bucky’s breath against his neck. He imagined his lover’s embrace, arms crossing his chest and pulling him close. He imagined his leg hooking itself over Steve’s hips, cuddling him. He imagined Bucky’s fingers brushing through his hair and tracing patterns on his bicep. He imagined falling asleep with Bucky’s hand clasped in his own. 

And that was how Steve finally drifted off—more or less. Holding his own hand, thumbing the back of his own palm, whispering sweet nothings to himself, and thinking of Bucky. 

///

Steve didn’t regret his sex with Rumlow. Or maybe he did—he wasn’t really sure, but either way, the next time Rumlow texted him asking for a hookup, he knew he would go over. He knew it wasn’t totally healthy, but at this point, he didn’t care enough to stop. It was nice to be touched, anyway. 

That was his life: fight, train, and get used as somebody’s fucktoy in between. Trying not to kill himself was also on the schedule. And he survived this way for 2 years, 4 months, and 13 days. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to fix the spacing bug with italics, and I did my best to proofread it, but let me know in the comments if I made a mistake.

Steve couldn’t believe that it had worked. 

Some of Scott’s quantum technology modified by Tony, Wong’s powers, and Nebula, Rocket, and Natasha’s seemingly infinite supply of weapons combined with a ridiculously complex plan, and they were back. Everyone was back. Good and evil, human and otherwise, wise and ignorant—they had all returned, standing in the very spots from which they had vanished. 

Steve had flown a jet straight to Wakanda as soon as he realised what had happened. He didn’t quite believe it. The others had all been reported as having returned, but maybe it was different for them. He and Bucky had already cheated death twice, so perhaps a third time was too much to ask for. There was always a catch. Maybe he had lost his memory again. Maybe he remembered what happened, and he blamed Steve for what happened. Maybe he was fine and healthy and _alive,_ and he just didn’t love Steve anymore. 

Steve landed outside of the Wakandan palace. Obviously, the royal family would not be there to greet him as usual; they were busy celebrating their own reunions. 

Steve turned to the closest guard. “Is he. . .?” He couldn’t even bring himself to voice his hope.

“At the same place where he healed. In the village,” she replied

As he boarded the jet, he heard her call, “He’s waiting for you.”

His heart was racing as he stepped out on to the Wakandan plains. Listening to the sound of the long grasses waving in the breeze, he tried to breath—“tried” being the operative word. Should he walk there, or should he run? Did running seem too desperate? Fuck it, he was going to run.

“Where?” he asked one of the children.

She pointed silently towards the lake.

And there he was, standing not 200 feet away in the same uniform as the day he had died, his gun resting on the sand next to him. The sun cast his silhouette like a shadow, rays of light parting around him as he stared out at the water. This time, Steve walked, not trusting his legs to run. 

“Bucky?” Steve whispered. 

He turned around. 

“Yeah?”

And oh _god,_ it was him, it was him, it was _him,_ and _he remembered,_ and he was alive, alive alive alive alive, standing right there, looking at Steve like everything was okay, and it was all okay, but it also wasn’t because how could anything be okay ever again, and he was _alive_ , and suddenly Steve couldn’t move, so instead he just stood there with tears rolling down his face, whispering the words “You’re okay” to himself. 

So again, it was Bucky who was protecting him. 

He rushed over, closing the remaining gap, and wrapped Steve in a hug. 

“Hey, hey, _hey,_ it’s okay,” Bucky said softly, “You’re safe, Stevie. It’s all okay.”

“Bucky,” Steve sobbed, burying his face in his shoulder. 

“Yeah, I’m right here, Stevie. No need to worry.”

“Bu _cky._ ”

He rubbed Steve’s back, trying to soothe him. “I’m here, I’m here, you’re okay, we’re all okay. Come on, baby, just breathe.”

He had never seen Steve like this, not when his mother died, not when Peggy died—Steve hadn’t even cried like this after the snap. But now, his body was wracked with sobs, unending and broken. Steve had all but collapsed against Bucky and was shaking as though there was poison running through his veins. He gripped Bucky tightly, grabbing fists of his uniform and pulling him close. Bucky could feel the desperation flowing from his fingertips, and in return, he held Steve against his chest, rocking him slightly.

“We’re okay, Stevie, we’re okay,” he whispered against his ear.

“You were, you—I can’t,” Steve’s voice cracked. 

“I know, baby. I know.” Bucky wiped a tear from along the line of Steve’s cheekbones. “You can tell me later, I promise. But let’s get you calm first, okay?”

Steve nodded, pressing his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck. 

Bucky stroked his hair, holding him as the tears dried up and the sobs quieted. 

Steve wiped his eyes and looked at the ground. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. . . I mean, not like that.”

Placing a hand on his cheek, Bucky said, “Steve, you don’t have to apologise to me for feeling.”

“I know, but that was a lot. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

Bucky craned his neck, trying to catch Steve’s gaze. “I want to deal with it. I want to deal with you. End of the line and all that shit.”

Steve laughed wetly followed by a small hiccup. 

“Now, what’s wrong?”

“You don’t know?”

“I mean, I remembering fighting Thanos, but we won, didn’t we? Otherwise we wouldn’t all be here, going about or lives.”

Steve looked away. 

“We won, right?” he asked again. 

“No, Bucky, we didn’t win.” 

“But. . .”

Patting the ground next to him, Steve sat down. He started to speak again when Bucky joined him, a questioning look in his eyes.

“We didn’t win, Buck. We lost and badly at that too. Thanos, he took the stone from Vision, straight out of his head, and then, we tried, Bucky—we tried; I tried so hard, I swear. I promise that I did everything I could.” Steve took a deep breath. “But it wasn’t enough. He had all of the stones, and he, um, he did exactly what he said he would.”

“He killed. . .” Bucky started but trailed off, not wanting to voice his guess. 

“Yeah,” Steve said hoarsely, “he killed half of the universe. All of them, dead, with the snap of his fingers.”

“But I survived, right?”

Steve closed his eyes, tears slipping from between his lashes.

“I survived, right?”

Silence.

“Stevie. . .”

“Bucky, you _died._ You didn’t even—there wasn’t even a body. You just faded away, disintegrated into dust.”

“But then . . .” Bucky trailed off. “How?”

“After you . . . well, after you died, we, the Avengers—or at least, what was left of us—made it our mission to kill Thanos. There were some other people who you don’t know, and they helped us, and we won. Thanos is dead.” Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand, encouraging him to continue. He took a deep breath, “I don’t really know how, but I guess that in the process, we brought you—everyone—back.”

“So, I died,” Bucky said softly. 

“Yeah.”

“But I came back.”

“Yeah.”

“So, how long was I gone?”

Steve didn’t answer immediately, voice wavering when he finally did speak. “A long time, Bucky.”

“How long, Stevie?”

Bucky could barely hear him when he answered, “More than two years. Uh, two years and four months, to be exact.” 

“Oh Ste _ve._ ”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Steve defended, crossing his arms. 

“Wasn’t it though?” 

“I mean, I missed you of course, but I got through.” He looked at the ground, apparently fascinated by a blade of grass. “I really missed you.”

Bucky stayed quiet; he knew that Steve had more to say. 

“It was hard, but I’m still here, right?” Steve laughed sourly. “Half the world died, so no one was in a great mood, but it’s all okay now. You’re back, so we can go back to normal now.”

“Yeah, I’m back. Right here. Right next to you,” Bucky said. 

Steve closed his eyes and lowered his head until it rested on Bucky’s shoulder. Their fingers were intertwined in the space between them, and Bucky’s free hand stroked Steve’s hair, twisting the strands lightly and letting the fall back down against his forehead. He listened to Steve’s breathing, and Steve listened to his heartbeat. 

“Let’s go home, Stevie. Let’s go home.”

/// 

In honour of their returned members, Tony and Sam decided to throw a party for the Avengers. 

Steve watched Bucky dance with Natasha from the edge of the room. As expected, the two of them together were nothing less than perfection. They didn’t conform to a specific style, but each movement was delivered with the same sleek precision. Leaning back against the bar, Steve smiled with a reserved sort of fondness. He envied the way Bucky could lose himself in the music; with Steve, dancing was always painfully conscious. 

Thor sidled up behind him, pushing a drink across the neon-lit countertop. 

“No thanks. It doesn’t work on me.” Steve pushed it back.

“I know, my friend.” Thor clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s why I brought you something special. It’s from my people—or, at least, what remains of the them.”

“Oh. Thank you,” Steve said, taking it in his hand. The mead was bitter on his tongue, but warm in his stomach; he could taste the potency in a single sip. 

Steve cleared his throat. “How’s your brother? I don’t see him here.”

“He’s dead.”

“I thought everyone was revived.”

“Not him. His situation was . . . different.”

“What happened?” 

“It happened before the snap. Thanos killed him. Murdered him. Right in front of me.” Thor looked down at his hands. “I know he hurt people, and you were enemies—even I fought against him at times—but before all of that, he was my brother.”

Steve nodded empathetically. “I understand. It was the same with Bucky.”

Thor raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue.

“I forgot that you weren’t here for that. Everyone thought that Bucky died during WW2—I mean, I saw him fall myself. But it turns out that Hydra had captured him, and they tortured him. They tortured him for 70 years, and they made him a weapon. We didn’t know who he was, so we fought him. I almost _killed_ him,” Steve said, choking on his tongue. “But he’s okay now. He healed, and then he fought alongside us. And then, well you know the rest.”

Thor pointed towards the dance floor. “And that’s your Bucky there?”

Steve smiled. “Yeah, that’s my Bucky.”

The two men drank in silence, watching their friends. Maybe it was just Thor’s newfound lightning powers, but Steve could swear that he felt a certain warmth between them. 

“What are you going to do now?”

“Without my brother, you mean? I don’t know. I suppose I will rebuild, return to Asgard, create a future for my people.” Thor sighed. “Keep calm and carry on, as you are so fond of saying.”

“That’s actually a British expression.”

“Hmm?”

“Never mind.”

As if on cue, sensing the lull in the conversation, Bucky called him from the dance floor. He was clearly drunk—tipsy at the least—if the movements of his hips were anything to go by. 

“Ste-vie,” he sing-songed, “come dance with me.”

“Maybe later, Buck,” Steve called back. 

“Ste-eve. . .”

“You know I’ve got two left feet.”

“Dance with me,” he insisted. 

Watching the whole exchange, Thor smiled, hints of melancholy slipping through. “You should dance with him.”

“What?” Steve asked, only half listening. 

“We don’t always get a second chance.” 

“Dance with me,” Bucky said again, lowering his voice. He walked towards the bar, extending a hand. It hovered at the edge of Steve’s space, casting a faint shadow across his knees: an invitation. “Dance. with. me.”

“Okay, Buck. Okay.”

He took his hand and let Bucky lead him to the center of the room. There, Bucky curled his hands around Steve’s waist, drawing him closer. Not quite resisting, Steve stayed stiff on his feet with his arms handing tightly at his sides. Bucky interlaced his fingers with Steve’s and drew his hand up, placing it on his shoulder. Steve’s pinky and ring finger traced the edge of his clavicle, running across the band of scars where skin met metal, before settling. Steve raised his other hand up the side of Bucky’s body and repeated the same process, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. 

“Don’t think so much,” Bucky whispered. 

Swaying to the music, Steve leaned in and pressed his cheek to the point where his neck joined the rest of his body. Bucky could feel Steve’s smile through the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t smell exactly the same as he had the first time they met, or the first time the kissed, or when he came back, or even a year ago, but there was something that stayed with him, something underlying and essential. Closing his eyes, Steve let himself fall into him. 

The music slowed as the party died down: the only others left were Thor, Scott, and Rocket, who was passed out on Nebula’s lap. The couples had all paired off, each on their own separate floors. Steve and Bucky were still dancing—if you could call it that. They were barely moving, just holding each other and moving ever-so-slightly from side to side. 

Bucky nuzzled Steve’s cheek, so close that Steve could feel his eyelashes brushing his stubble. He kissed the spot right above Steve’s eyebrow with the languidness of a man at peace. 

“My love,” he said, mouth pressed against Steve’s ear. 

And suddenly, something in Steve broke. His body trembled in Bucky’s embrace as he bit his lip, trying to hold back tears. He was almost completely silent; the only change in sound was his ragged breathing and the feeling of his chest fluttering in and out. 

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I didn’t—I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“It’s okay.” Bucky pressed a hand to the back of his neck. “It’s fine. It’s getting late anyway, maybe we should just go to bed.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

Steve wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Yeah, let’s go.” 

By the time they got to their floor, Steve’s tears had stopped and been replaced by an overwhelming numbness. He was near catatonic as Bucky sat him on the bed. He unbuttoned Steve’s shirt and lifted his arms to pull it off completely. Next, Bucky unlaced his shoes, sliding them off his feet and placing by them by the foot of the bed. He managed to wrangle Steve into a pair of pajama pants before pushing him over to the far side of the mattress and draping the covers on top of him. 

“Bucky?” Steve asked, half-unconscious. 

“I’ll be there in a moment, pal.”

Steve nodded and closed his eyes again. The fan ruffled the curtains, and Bucky slid into the bed as quietly as possible, trying not to wake Steve. 

Either he wasn’t successful, or Steve wasn’t really asleep because just as Bucky was settling in against the pillow, he rolled over and said, “I did something bad, Buck.”

“Can’t be that bad if _you_ did it.”

Steve shook his head. “No, it’s real bad, but I only did it because I missed you.”

That sparked Bucky’s curiosity, but he thought better of it and said, “Tell me about it in the morning, Stevie.”

With that, he turned to his side and wrapped an arm across Steve’s chest, spooning him. As the hour hand on the clock slipped to 1:00 am, he placed a kiss right below Steve’s ear. Their legs tangled together, and Steve shifted so that Bucky’s palms fell against his knuckles. Bucky listened his breath even out and, not for the first or last time that night, held him closer. 

///

Between the two of them, Steve and Bucky had enough nightmares to last through a century of sleep. So, it wasn’t exactly a surprise when Bucky awoke to find Steve curled in on himself and shivering. At this point, he knew it was better not to wake him. “Let his brain work through whatever it needs to work through” was what Pepper had told him. 

So, instead, he propped a pillow behind his back and lifted Steve’s head into his lap, stroking his hair and massaging his hands. It wouldn’t take away the nightmare, but it was the least he could do. (Not so deep down, Bucky knew that it probably didn’t affect Steve at all, and the whole routine really served to help him feel less useless.)

Bucky was kneading the line of Steve’s palm when he finally woke up. 

Steve took note of his position and asked tiredly, “Again?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He pushed himself into an upright position and groaned. Asgardian liquor was not kind to the human body, even with the super-soldier serum.

Bucky figured that this was as good a time as any. He took a deep breath. “Steve, I don’t want to scare you or anything, but I think we need to talk.”

At this, Steve snapped around. His eyes flitted across Bucky’s expression wildly, searching for a hidden meaning. Bucky remained neutral: he didn’t want to give Steve’s mind anything to run with in either direction, positive or negative. 

Steve squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled. “Can I at least shower first?”

“Yeah, I’ll make breakfast for us. Is toast good?”

“Um, sure.”

Twenty minutes and eight pieces of bread later, Steve walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table, picking a seat one space away from Bucky.

He cleared his throat. “So, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

“You, actually.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“I feel like things _aren’t_ okay.” He reached across the table and covered Steve’s hand with his own. “I know you’ve been through a lot, and you’re holding it all in”—Steve opened his mouth to object, but Bucky pushed forward— “Don’t even try to deny it. But anyway, after something you said last night, I’m a little worried about you. More worried than usual.”

“Things are a little blurry from last night; what’d I say?”

“You started crying, and then when we were going to bed, you said that you did something bad.”

For a moment, there was complete silence. Then—

“Please don’t be mad.”

“I was a Nazi assassin. I don’t think I’m in any place to judge you.”

“Okay, number one: that wasn’t your fault. You were brainwashed and tortured. Number two: what I did, it was different.” 

Bucky had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. If he was even half right, Steve probably did something marginally not-noble, and he’d been beating himself up over it for the last four months instead of moving on like a normal person. 

“Alright, fine. I’ll bite. What did you do?”

“I’m really sorry, Bucky. I . . .” Steve exhaled the air he’d been holding in. “I cheated on you.”

Bucky yanked his hand back. He couldn’t believe it. His almost asked “are you sure?” because that was how ridiculous the idea of Steve cheating on him was. A current throbbed through the room, pulsing and flaring, like it was ready to strike out. 

“When?”

“The last two years.”

“Two goddamn—” Bucky stopped speaking midsentence.

 _Wait_. The last two years. He’d been dead the last two years, so—

“Bucky, I’m so sorry, I can explain, and I don’t mean that I’m trying to justify it or anything, but please let me explain? I’m so sorry, and I’ll never do it again, and I wish I could take it back, but—wait, no buts. I just, I don’t even know how to make this up to you. I understand totally if you don’t want to be with me—”

Bucky clasped Steve’s face, cutting him off before he could spiral any further. 

“Steve, you said the last two years, right?”

He nodded mutely, still shocked that Bucky was willing to touch him after what he had just confessed. 

“So, I was dead. It doesn’t count.”

“But you weren’t, not really. And either way, you came back, and we never broke up, so I cheated on you.”

“You _really_ didn’t, dumbass,” Bucky said fondly. “You thought I was dead, and you tried to move on with your life. You did exactly what I would have wanted you to do.”

“But—”

“Baby, I am happy to listen to you and help you work through whatever you need to, but you’re not changing my mind.”

For a moment, Steve pouted, ever stubborn to get his point across. But he gave in with a sigh, saying, “Do you at least want to know who it was?”

“Do you want to tell me?”

He considered this. “I don’t know. Maybe later?”

“There’s no pressure either way.” Bucky slid into the empty seat between them. “Now eat your toast. You need to catch me up on the seasons of Queer Eye.”


	3. Chapter 3

And so, life returned to normal. The Avengers: Extended Edition (as Sam had taken to calling them in light of their new additions. Peter Quill was still arguing for the Revengers: Extended Edition, but no one was really into it.) settled back into the tower. Tony even cleared out one of the lower floors to build a set of rooms for Scott, Nebula, Rocket, Drax, and Quill to stay in when they were visiting. 

As for Bucky and Steve: they were absolutely inseparable. They were literally always touching: in the kitchen, where their arms would brush as they poured cereal; during their morning jogs, where they would run close enough together that their fingers would flit against each other; in their living room, where they would reading in silence, sprawled across opposite ends of the couch with their feet tangled together; during video game night, where they would sit with their thighs pressed right against each other. 

Sam not-fondly remembered the time he was trying to have a conversation with Steve about some TV show, and Bucky had just sort of appeared and maneuvered himself into his space, wrapping his arms around Steve and burrowing his face into Steve’s shoulder. In response, Steve had just gripped Bucky’s hands like nothing had happened. The two of them had always been pretty affectionate, but _damn,_ this was a whole other level of nonsense. 

So, it was far from a surprise to find them making out on the sofa, with Bucky nearly on top of Steve.

Sam cleared his throat. They didn’t stop. In fact, Steve, god damn it, had the audacity to _moan._

“Guys?” 

They broke apart slightly, completely unashamed, and looked at Sam. To be clear, they did not detach from one another, and their mouths went from being 0 inches apart to 3 inches apart. 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“This is a communal space. Everyone on the team uses that sofa.”

Steve shrugged, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “Team bonding.”

So, yeah—things were back to normal. 

///

What Sam didn’t know was everything that happened after he interrupted their make out session. As it turns out, Steve was just messing with Sam and actually told Bucky that they should go somewhere more private. Bucky agreed, not because he really cared about what Steve was saying, but because he just wanted to start kissing Steve again.

Now safe in the privacy of their own floor, Bucky trapped Steve against the wall, pinning his wrists with his hands. For a moment, neither of them moved, just listening to the sound of their heavy breathing. Steve gave in first and broke eye contact, letting his gaze flit down Bucky’s lips. Bucky smiled and dove in, kissing Steve like it was the first time in years.

(Just to be clear: it wasn’t the first time in years. They’d been making out earlier on the couch. And when they actually did kiss for the first time in years—the first time was when Bucky had broken through his Winter Soldier programming; the second time was in Wakanda, after Bucky had come out of cryo; the third time was after Bucky had been brought back after the snap—it wasn’t like that. It was gentle, all trembling hands and saccharine touches.)

But now? Now, Bucky kissed Steve the way it feels to be safe in crowd, all dancing, all singing, all moving in sync with the throbbing bass. And Steve kissed him back like he was clawing his way back into the light—he kissed him with something raw and free. 

Bucky ground his hips against Steve, takings things a little slower and a bit harder. As he focused his movements downward, their lips slid off-center so that Bucky was kissing the side of Steve’s mouth. Then, Bucky slid his hand behind Steve’s head and curled his metal fingers in his hair. With only the slightest tug, Steve let his head fall back, exposing his neck to Bucky’s mouth. 

“Yes,” Steve moaned. 

Bucky looked back up at Steve, smiling at his expression. His hair was thoroughly ruffled, and his eyes were closed, and the tension surrounding them had disappeared for once.

“Shall we take this to the bedroom?” Bucky asked, sliding his hands under Steve’s shirt. 

For a moment, he thought Steve hadn’t heard him because he didn’t respond, but then Steve nodded. 

Bucky kissed him again, this time with his hands on either side of Steve’s face. “C’mon Stevie, let’s go.”

As soon as they crossed the threshold to the bedroom, Bucky pulled off Steve’s shirt and kissed his pecs, grazing his fingernails across his torso. 

“You good?” he asked. 

“Mm-hmm,” Steve said, leaning against the bed. 

“Alright.” 

Bucky pressed his mouth to Steve’s chest, sucking on his nipples. Steve had always had very sensitive skin and that had only increased with the serum. _Some things never change_ , he thought to himself, tongue swirling across the pink goosebumps. 

Except Steve had gone dead still. Bucky thought he was just taking a moment to really feel all of the sensations, but then—

“St-stop,” Steve said hoarsely. “Please. Stop.”

Bucky yanked himself back. “Um, yeah. Okay.” He nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Steve wriggled up the bed until his back was against the wall and drew his legs up against his chest. “Can you pass me a blanket?”

“Sure. Yeah, no problem.”

While Bucky was grabbing a knitted throw from the other room, Steve pulled his shirt back on. He was sitting in the exact same position when Bucky returned. 

“I know you want to ask,” Steve said, looking down. 

“I’m not going to lie—I do, but I won’t unless it’s okay with you.”

“It’s fine.” 

“Why did you ask me to stop? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Buck, it’s not you,” he said, dragging a hand down face. “It’s not you at all.”

“Then what happened?” 

“Remember how I told you that I had sex with someone else?”

Bucky nodded.

“I didn’t want it. Not really.” 

Bucky’s face went through several expressions in the following seconds, some of which Steve had never seen before. With fearful eyes, he asked gently, “You were . . . raped?”

Steve’s eyes widened. “What? No! That’s not what I meant.”

Relaxing into his, Bucky exhaled the breath he’d been holding. 

“I mean, I consented and everything. There’s no way Rumlow could’ve known that I didn’t like it.”

“Rumlow?”

“Shit. I forgot that you didn’t want to know.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky said, waving his hand. “I’m just a little surprised.”

“Well, like I said, I didn’t actually _like_ it.”

“Then why did you do it? Why would you have sex you don’t like with someone you don’t care about?”

“I don’t—it wasn’t that simple.”

Bucky moved over to where Steve was sitting so that they were side-by-side, shoulder to shoulder. “I can listen.”

“I’ve lost you six times now, Bucky. When you left me to join the army; when you nearly died in Azzano; when you fell from the train; when fought me on the helicarrier and left me on the river bank; when you had to go back into cryo; and when you died in the Snap.

“I know the history books talk about me and Peggy more than anyone else, and she’s phenomenal—don’t get me wrong—but you’re something else. Peggy was my best friend, but you’re my other half. When you’re away from me—well, let’s just say that we all know the real reason I flew that plane into the ice.

“It physically hurts when you’re not here. My body can’t handle the loneliness. So, yeah, I let Rumlow fuck me. And it hurt, and it was weird, and I could never wait for it to be over, but I needed someone to touch me. It’s like, it’s like I was starving for affection. 

“I didn’t want it, but I told him I did. I always regretted it, but I kept going back. And I hate myself for it because now I’m so fucked up.” Steve’s voice broke. “I can’t even have sex with you now, even though I want it, I swear.”

“Stevie, I don’t even know what to say.”

“It’s fucked up, I know.”

“Baby.” Bucky tried to find the right words, but the best he could manage was “Can I give you a hug?”

“ _Please._ ”

“Okay, sshhh,” he whispered, smoothing a hand over Steve’s hair. “You’re okay. Trust me, you’re okay.”

“I keep collapsing on you,” Steve choked out.

“You’re long overdue, so don’t worry.”

Steve wasn’t quite crying, but his breathing was harsh and irregular, and his body shivered with sadness the way that a willowing pine shakes in the wind. 

With his head in Bucky’s lap, he said, “Sometimes I wish I was small again.”

“Hmm?”

“So, you could hold me the way you used to.”

Bucky smiled and bent over and caught Steve’s eye contact. “Well I can’t promise that it’ll feel the way it used, especially with the metal arm and all, but I can still hold you.”

Steve rolled over and felt Bucky slide into the space behind him.

“You’re still my Stevie, you know. No matter what happens, we’re together.”

///

“I think we need to make a list.”

“Of what?” Steve said without looking up from his newspaper. 

“Of what’s okay, you know, sexually.”

 _That_ got his attention. Steve opened his mouth to argue but then closed it firmly, deciding that it was better not to engage. 

“Come on, Stevie.” Bucky pressed down the top edge of the newspaper. “We did the exact same thing after I escaped from Hydra.”

“Yeah, but you were ra—you have a lot more trauma than me.”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s not a competition. We all need what we need, and I think you need to make a list.” He grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper from one of the drawers in the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll start.”

As Bucky began to write, Steve continued read, but Bucky could see that he was glancing down at the list from the corner of his eye. So, he wasn’t disinterested, just a little uncomfortable and very, _very_ stubborn. After about five minutes, Bucky leaned back in his chair, leaving his list on full display.

“I just want to make sure I didn’t miss anything, so I’m going to run through my list of off-limits actions aloud. Is that cool?” 

Steve nodded, nonchalant. 

“Okay, let’s see. No golden showers, scat play, or knife-play. I don’t really think that you would be into that, but it’s worth putting on the list. No hard restraints, like ropes or handcuffs. Cloth ties aren’t always okay, but they’re a little more case-by-case.” Bucky paused, checking the list again. 

“I’m not really into discipline either: if you grab me or squeeze me in the moment, that’s totally fine, but I don’t want to be spanked or caned or flogged. No humiliation or degradation; it reminds me too much of . . . And, um, no gags. Ever. So, yeah. I think that’s about it. If I think of anything else, I’ll add it later. What about you?”

Bucky looked up to find Steve staring at him. “What?”

“That’s some heavy stuff, Buck. I wasn’t even thinking about most of those.”

“Well, I’ve had a rougher time than most.”

Steve dragged a hand across his face. “I just. That’s my point. After everything you’ve been through, it doesn’t really make sense for us to worry about me.”

“Stevie, baby, look at me. I want to make sure that I never hurt you, _especially_ when we’re being intimate. Nobody deserves that.”

“Okay. Fine.”

“You’ll do it?”

“I’ll try.”

“Maybe it would be easier if you just talked? I can write for you,” Bucky offered. 

“Yeah, we can try that.”

Bucky uncapped the pen. “Alright, ready.”

With a sigh, Steve began. “Um, I guess I second everything that you said, about the humiliation and other stuff. But outside of that, I don’t really know. I would always wear a blindfold with Rumlow, so I didn’t have to see his face, so maybe you can make sure that I can always see you? I want to know that it’s you I’m with. 

“Also, he was into being called Daddy, and I don’t—it was kind of weird, and I don’t really want to do that again. Um, and the last thing is that it always hurt.” Bucky stopped writing when he heard that. Steve could tell that he wanted to say something, but he decided against it. “He would just go so hard that it felt like he was pushing my organs out of place, and he never really had lube, so the friction wasn’t great either.” 

Steve saw Bucky’s expression and tried to backtrack. “It’s not like it was rape or anything though. I consented. I literally asked for it, and he would have stopped if I had asked him to. I consented, but I still wanted it to be over.”

With a sigh, Bucky closed the pen and looked up. “Okay.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to give me some speech about taking care of myself?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No.”

Bucky smiled sadly and pressed his hand to Steve’s cheek. “Then I won’t.”

///

Mercifully, Bucky didn’t bring up the list again. Steve was downright terrified that their conversation would change things, that Bucky would treat him like he was made of glass. But as usual, Bucky knew exactly what to do to make everything okay. 

Steve still woke up with Bucky curled around him, and Bucky would still kiss him, eyes bleary from sleep. And even though they were super-soldiers, they were still human, so many mornings, Steve stirred only to feel Bucky’s hard-on pressed against him. At first, he was scared that Bucky would freak out and pull away, but he just relaxed further into Steve. Sometimes, he’d smirk and grind his hips a little. Other days, he’d just continue normally, as if it was nothing at all. Never pushing, but never pulling away. 

Two weeks later, their conversation had all but vanished from Steve’s mind. They’d just come home after a gala raising funds for a mental health organisation. Steve and Tony had been the guests of honour: Steve for his public discussion of depression and Tony for creating awareness on PTSD and anxiety. The rest of the Avengers—at least, those that were on Earth and not currently engaged in a mission—also attended the event, each with their own plus-ones. (Natasha and Clint had shown up together in matching suits, reigniting rumours of a romance.) 

Steve had stepped out of the limousine in a trim black suit; to add personality, he had pinned a few buttons with phrases like “It’s okay not to be okay” and “You are enough” pinned to the lapels of his blazer. It probably wouldn’t get him _People Magazine’s_ Best Dressed section, but if nothing else, Tumblr and Twitter would have a field day. Either way, it was infinitely better than the sparkly black harness Tony had begged him to wear. 

Bucky had matched Steve’s outfit, only exchanging his pins for ones that read “Take your meds” among other things. They weren’t out publicly yet, mostly because they were too lazy to actually announce their relationship, but they didn’t deny anything in the slightest. Steve was pretty sure that everyone with half a brain knew they were together by now. Speaking of being together—

“Bucky,” Steve said, ducking out of the flash of cameras and back into the limo.

Bucky, who was already situated inside the car, turned around at the sound of his name. “Hmm?”

Pulling the door shut with a click, Steve practically lunged forward, grasping Bucky’s face between his hands. He slid his lips against Bucky’s like a tiger latching onto a deer; he moved with hunger, guided only by instinct. It took Bucky less than a second to respond, jumping into action with matching ferocity. 

He nipped at Steve’s lower lip. “You know,” he said between breaths of air, “you didn’t have to wait until we were alone to kiss me.”

Steve’s hand curled across the muscle of Bucky’s back. “Can’t kiss you like this public.”

Slipping a finger into the loop of Steve’s tie, Bucky loosened it until he could undo the top button of Steve’s collar. “Can’t kiss _anyone_ like this in public,” he said with a smirk. 

In response, Steve pulled at the shoulders of Bucky’s blazer, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as Bucky wriggled his way out of the sleeves. 

“Wait. Shit.”

“What?”

“The driver.”

Steve groaned—and it wasn’t in the fun, sexy way. 

“Yeah, let’s not start anything we can’t finish.”

With the petulance of a 5-year-old child, Steve extricated himself from Bucky, untangling their limbs and attempting to make himself look marginally presentable. “Fuck,” he said, smoothing down his hair and straightening his tie. 

Bucky winked. “Later.”

“Oh. my. god.”

And Bucky had the goddamn nerve to beam even brighter at that. 

They slipped out of the limousine and into the Avengers Tower, rushing past a slew of photographers, some official but most paparazzi. In the elevator, Bucky’s fingers flew across the gleaming buttons of Steve’s shirt, working with precision even as Steve kissed impatiently at his neck. Bucky dropped to his knees, mouthing at the lines of Steve’s abs, tasting his body like it was made of sugar and vanilla. The action took Steve by surprise, and he leaned back, sinking against the wall and pressing several floors’ buttons. He didn’t bother to correct his error, knowing that Jarvis would wisely take them to their floor first.

Right on cue, Jarvis said, “Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes, you have arrived on your floor.”

Steve cast a hazy thumbs-up towards the ceiling as they stumbled out of the elevator, lips still pressed together. Bucky pulled off his shirt, tossing his bowtie on the couch. 

“You good?” he asked. His tone was light, but his eyes were serious.

Steve nodded. 

“Then what are we waiting for?” he said, grinning.

Steve answered that question with an open-mouthed kiss. He pressed the full length of his body against Bucky, chest to chest and groin to groin. They stood still for a second, just feeling each other: the contours, the notches, the curves. And then, they dove in again, with new energy. Bucky undid Steve’s trousers and pulled off his own clothes as Steve stepped out of the crumpled clothes around his ankles. He licked the space between Steve’s hipbones, right above the band of his underwear, before taking them off completely. 

With one hand stroking his own cock, he began to suck Steve’s dick, starting by licking slowly up his cock. His other hand stayed at the base of Steve’s cock, always behind his mouth, twisting rhythmically to his own breathing. He could feel Steve holding back little moans, instead exhaling them as soft pants. Bucky formed an O-shape with his mouth and wrapped it around the tips of Steve’s cock, holding still and letting Steve relish the wet warmth.

Then, Bucky started to bob his head up and down, taking Steve’s cock deeper into his mouth with every repetition. Steve gripped the edge of the couch tightly; Bucky could swear that he heard the wooden frame splintering under the cushions. They had both gotten pretty good at controlling their strength, and if Steve was letting loose even by that small of an amount, then Bucky knew he was doing a good job. As Bucky sunk down Steve’s cock, finally covering him fully, he moaned, letting the vibrations shiver along his nerves. 

“Please,” Steve whispered. 

His mouth was otherwise occupied, so Bucky rubbed a thumb against the Steve’s hipbone to let him know that he was listening. 

“ _Please_ , Buck,” he moaned again, “please. . . _stop_.” 

Bucky pulled his mouth off Steve’s dick without hesitation and raised his hands in a surrender sign. He stood up slowly, giving Steve enough time to catalogue his movements and react. He wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“I’m going to grab a pair of underwear and sweatpants for both of us, okay?”

Steve wrapped his arms around his chest, shrinking further in on himself. 

“Alright, I’ll be back in a second.”

Grabbing the first few pairs clothes he saw, Bucky hurried back to the living room where Steve sat, unmoved from a minute ago. Bucky had already put on a pair of boxers while in their bedroom, so he handed Steve his stack of clothes before pulling on his own sweatpants. He ran a hand through his hair, fighting the instinct to pull it into a bun—he didn’t have an elastic on his wrist anyway. 

“You know we have to talk about this, right?”

Steve looked away. 

Out of instinct, Bucky reached towards him, but he stopped his hand so that it hovered just above Steve’s shoulder. He needed to ask first. “Can I touch you?”

Whirling around, Steve said, “You shouldn’t even have to ask. It shouldn’t be like this.”

“Like what, baby?”

“Like _this_ ,” Steve said, motioning to himself. “You should be with someone who isn’t so broken, who isn’t so messed up.” 

“But you aren’t broken, Stevie. You just need a little time to heal.”

“It’s been months since I went anywhere near Rumlow. I can heal from broken ribs and punctured lungs faster than this.” Bucky opened his mouth to argue, but Steve continued. “And it’s not like I don’t want to have sex. I mean, Buck, you’ve got to know that I think about you all the time. I wake up hard from dreaming about you; I’m staring at your arms, and your shoulders, and your ass during training sessions—it’s half the reason why Nat always beats me.

“And I love making out with you. I love kissing you, kissing your neck, kissing your chest, all of it. I even like more than that: pulling off our shirts, you on top of me, grinding and necking and all that. I love being naked with you, and the blowjobs feel great, but I just—the pressure of orgasming and everything—I just can’t get out of my head. Sex doesn’t feel bad or anything, but it doesn’t feel particularly good. It’s just. . . things don’t feel the way they used to. 

“Before the Snap, I could cum after you jerking me off for a minute. Now, we can take our sweet time all night, and I’ll still be laying there, waiting for something to happen. I’m noticing all of the little things that are weird or uncomfortable, like the wet noises and awkward groans, or the way squelching sound of your dick going in and out of my ass. I can’t get into it. I just want you to cum, so we lie naked together, and kiss, and cuddle.” Steve shook his head. “I know it sounds dumb. Sorry”

That was a lot. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Steve talk that much about something so personal. Steve wasn’t exactly secretive, but growing up in the 40s, you just didn’t talk about some things. Plus, with all of the shit that had gone down with S.H.I.E.L.D turning out to be HYDRA and just the general mistrust because of governments and armies trying to use him, Steve had become a little guarded. He wasn’t consciously hiding anything from Bucky, but 10 years of being used for military advantage doesn’t leave a man unscathed.

Steve was still sitting on the couch with his head bowed, only wearing the boxers and sweatpants that Bucky had brought him. He didn’t look up when Bucky slipped into the space next to him, displacing a decorative pillow. Bucky’s metal arm buzzed slightly in the silence as he extended it across the back of the sofa and around Steve’s shoulders. Steve tensed at the movement, and Bucky held still, but then Steve leaned back slightly and relaxed against the cool plates of his arm. 

“You know,” Bucky said, letting Steve’s head fall onto shoulder and rubbing up and down his arm with soothing strokes. He paused, waiting for Steve to fully calm down. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Hmm?”

“Sex is kind of overrated anyway.”

Steve barked out a laugh. Whatever he had been expecting Bucky to say, _that_ was not it. 

“No, really. Hear me out.”

Steve smiled and closed his eyes. He knew that Bucky was just trying to make him feel better: whatever argument he came up with would half-baked and half-prepared, but it would be delivered whole-heartedly. It didn’t make it any less sweet. 

“Let’s hear it.”

“Okay, so, sex is kind of weird to start with. It’s like, ‘Hey! You’ve got a dick! I’ve got a dick! Let’s put them near each other and see what happens.’ And then we just keep writhing around with our dicks out?” Bucky scoffed. “I think I liked Dwight Schrute’s version of gay sex better: just two men, intertwining their penises until one penis opens up to accept the other.”

“Well, I didn’t think that was even a possibility, but now, I want to add that to my list of things I’m uncomfortable with. No dick intertwining for Steve Rogers.”

“But the penis receptacle is okay with you?” Bucky asked hopefully.

“I’ll have to think about that one.”

“I’m serious though, Stevie. Sex isn’t that big of a deal. If you never want to have sex again, I’d be just as happy as I am right now. Kissing you, cuddling you, showering with you—hell, even just being _near_ you is enough for me. And I don’t mean ‘enough’ like I’m settling or something. It’s like when I used to have to go out with girls, back when we lived in Brooklyn.” Bucky continued, speaking with a slight accent and higher voice. “You’d ask me, ‘Buck, why do you keep coming home to me? You got 20 gorgeous women, all lined up to go out with you, so why don’t you date one of them for real?’”

Steve squawked at the impression. 

Rolling his eyes, Bucky corrected himself, “Okay, fine, you didn’t actually say anything like that, but I could tell you were thinking it.”

“Yeah, maybe a little.” Steve nodded begrudgingly. 

“But back to my point. You used to wonder if I was missing out on something because you had a dick instead of breasts and a . . .well, y’know. But that didn’t make our relationship less real; it was just different. And then when got the serum, and again, you were worried that I wouldn’t want you because you had all of these muscles”—he squeezed Steve’s biceps for emphasis—“and you were undeniably male and masculine. You thought that I had only tolerated you before because you were small and delicate, and I could pretend you were a woman. But did that happen?”

“No.”

“It just changed our relationship a little. I had to adjust to not needing to protect you. It also changed the way that we fucked. Before the serum, you needed to be in control, but after, with all the pressure of being Captain America and your new strength, you just wanted things to be easy. You started bottoming a little more, and even when you topped me, it was gentler. And then, after being held by HYDRA, it was me who needed to feel in control, and things changed again. 

“So, you not wanting to have sex is just another change. Just another difference.” Bucky kissed Steve’s forehead. “It’s okay. I will be just as happy as I am now if you never want to have sex again.”

Steve turned his head, staring straight into Bucky’s eyes. “Really?”

“Really,” Bucky said with a small smile. “In fact, I might actually prefer it—you always fall asleep afterwards, and it’s _me_ who gets stuck with the clean-up.”

“I don’t know if I never want to have sex again. I might change my mind.”

“Like I said, we’ve changed before. There’s no doubt that we’ll change again.”

With that, Steve lay his head back down on Bucky’s chest, letting himself relax into the moment. Bucky grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around the two of them, using his free hand to put on a movie—something light and funny. He shifted his position so that they were both laying lengthwise on the couch with Steve’s back resting against his chest. They didn’t talk; it was enough to be near each other. As the characters on the screen progressed through the plotline, Steve twisted around and kissed Bucky softly on the lips. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

In return, Bucky intertwined their fingers, pressing their palms together. 

///

4 months later, Steve and Bucky were sprawled across a massive blue towel on a secluded beach. Tony had decided the team needed a break now that the world had settled down a little. So, he flew the Avengers (and their families in the case of Clint) out to a tiny island for a week of relaxation. Campfires, massages, scuba-diving, and a _lot_ of sleeping in past 6:00. 

Bucky turned over to face Steve. “Hey,” he whispered with a smile. 

Steve wanted to roll his eyes at the cheesiness of the moment, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to mock Bucky like that. It wasn’t that far off from how he felt. 

“Hey.” Steve pressed his toes against Bucky’s foot, knocking their knees together in the process.

Bucky glanced at the waves lapping at the sand. “Told you I’d take you somewhere real nice one day, didn’t I?” 

“You said that, sure.” Steve shrugged. “But I’m pretty sure it was Tony who got us all out here.”

“Details.”

“Yeah, details.” 

Their eyes wandered in silence for a few seconds, taking in the ferns swaying in the breeze and the blue of the sea. At least, that’s what Steve was looking at. Bucky was only watching one thing. The way his muscles relaxed into the warmth of the sun; the shadow of bird falling across his face as it flew over them; the pink bits of sand sprinkled across the curve of his waist—yeah, Bucky was watching Steve. 

Without thinking, he said, “Can I kiss you?”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “You know you don’t have to ask.”

Bucky bit his lip. “I know, but still . . . sometimes, I like to take a little more time.”

Steve understood that. They’d been together for so long, and they’d been through so much together; it’s hard to find a romantic gesture greater than breaking through 70 years of brainwashing and coming back from the dead for someone. So, little things like that? Inconsequential to an outsider, but they were Bucky’s way of saying that it was still special to him. Steve was still special to him. 

“Yeah, go ahead, kiss me Barnes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a long time to figure out how to end this and even longer to write it. My life got really chaotic all of a sudden, and I didn't come back to this piece for over a month. 
> 
> I really loved writing this story. It helped me process the things I did and the things that were done to me. I hope someone can find the same peace and safety in these characters that I did.


End file.
